IT'S FULL OF EELS!

All I want to do today is recover. Oh, my head. This is the inevitable result of a meeting of the local pipe club, which necessitated smoking eight bowls full yesterday, instead of my normal three or four. Eight bowls. My nipples do NOT explode with excitement, to misquote the Hungarian gentleman from the famous Monty Python tobacconist sketch.

Yandelavasa gudenwi struvenka.

Many of us at the meeting were of an age, and much was discussed; the present derivation of Latakia tobacco, classic English shapes, garlicky hummus, and Japanese robotic progress, which last subject must inevitably lead to perversion, because they are making them look more and more like normal receptionists.

Additionally, most of us agree that now is the time to lurk around playgrounds luring in another generation of smokers, so that when we are old and decrepit, there will be nursing home staff willing to roll us out to the designated smoking area five blocks away in the rain.


"Come here, little person of whatever gender, would you like a fine Nicaraguan? It is made by a hip and well-respected company!"


At least, I think most of us agree. Too many of us have jobs that require our presence during normal playground hours, so maybe not.
And some of us melt in the rain.

Besides, we do not really know what pipe tobacco miss Hello Kitty favours.
It probably is NOT the horrible ghastly fruit-loop aromatic that Steve had in his pipe later, when we were enjoying a drink at the Oxxy. Conversations suddenly fell silent, and shock and horror spread, when the loathsome aroma made itself known. He apologetically explained that someone had offered him a sample, and, without even knowing what it was, he promptly loaded a pipe for later.

Everyone nearby remonstrated with him. Dude, unless you want us to think that you have short stumpy fingers and Nazi tendencies, you will pronto stop smoking that. Here, have something with Latakia instead; it will counteract the sleazy odeur.


I felt particularly vexed, because I vett these people before letting them loose on the unsuspecting innocents at the Oxxy. And I had indeed warned him about their disdain for perfumed dreck. But I'm sure it was an honest mistake, he had naively assumed clean habits and sound morals from a fellow pipesmoker.

Which is wrong.


Both Frank Sinatra and Hugh Heffner smoked Mixture 79.
Some people are right nasty swine, despite appearances.

If your grandpapa smoked cherry blend, good riddance.


Boys and girls, if someone EVER offers you Lane's 1Q, Molto Dolce, or Dan Tobacco's Blue Note, do not take it. Stuff like that gives you diseases, and leads to moral turpitude.

Only classic Latakia blends and fine Virginia-Perique mixtures are worth smoking; when one of us offers you some, accept gracefully and light up.


Irrespective of the horrid weather, I will be heading down to a convenient playground later in the day to enjoy a pipe or two on the periphery after lunch. If any of the usual healthy lads and lasses are playing volley ball there in the rain, I shall make encouraging noises from the sidelines,
and beckon invitingly with my umbrella.

No, I will not have my Hello Kitty backpack with me.
That only gets used on work days in Marin.
But I will have extra tobacco.
A rubbed flake.



Despite her personal preference in perfume, Ms. Kitty probably likes conservative English mixtures. Something by Samuel Gawith, or Greg Pease's Westminster, which is the very epitome of what a Londonian pipe tobacco should be. Balanced, civilized, and highly recommended.

Min luftkussens-fartsug es fuld mit aler.

TOBACCO INDEX


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